


The Truth Lies in Polished Stones

by MrsMollyH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Bunker Sex, Dark, Dark Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Hair-pulling, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 10, Season/Series 10 Speculation, Spit As Lube, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMollyH/pseuds/MrsMollyH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean makes Sam pay for what Sam did to find him—on his knees in the bunker. There is no kindness left in Dean, and Sam finds out the hard way.</p><p>For the prompt, "Someone controlling and moving Sam around by grabbing and jerking his hair. Mmmm." at SPN_Masquerade.</p><p>Note: Copyright infringement not intended. Characters belong to their creators, not me. This is just speculation about Sam's actions between seasons 9 and 10. </p><p>Please heed the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Lies in Polished Stones

        "How's that for you, Sammy? Does that flip your skirt?" Dean's huffing in Sam’s ear, yanking Sam’s head back, admiring the long stretch of neck the action exposes. He has Sam pressed against the wall of the bunker, chest flush to the stone. Dean’s got his hand wrapped in Sam’s hair, pulling it hard enough that he can feel a few strands spring free from Sam’s scalp. Sam’s whimpering some nonsense when Dean pushes his face back into the wall. Tight as a bowstring, Sam's strength is all drawn up into his core, anxious; Dean can feel the tension coming off Sam like it's something palpable. Dean’s eyes shine black like hard-polished onyx, and Sam’s eyes, pupils blown, hold just more than a hint of fear.

        “Dean you don’t have to—“

        “I didn’t ask you, did I, Sammy? Nah, this? This is all about me. Ought to try it sometime.” Dean’s keeping Sam’s head pulled back with his right hand, and he snakes his left around the front of Sam’s jeans, making quick work of his belt and zipper. Dean is humming some melody that Sam has never heard and he’s sure Dean didn’t learn on this plane of existence, and Sam’s knees are shaking.

        With a quick strip of his hand, Dean has Sam growing hard in his palm in spite of himself, and Dean, black eyes blazing, yanks his brother’s head back harder, enjoying the unnatural curve in his brother’s neck.

        “You like that, don’t you, you little cockslut?”

        Sam grunts in defiance, but Dean merely palms his brother’s dick harder, enjoying the hard breaths of distaste Sam offers with each stroke. Dean pushes Sam’s head back toward the wall.

       "Are you going to be good for me, Sammy?" Sam puts his effort into pushing against the wall, but Dean's strength is incredible now. With no grace, he slams Sam back against the stone and presses his face against the wall, hand still wrapped in his brother's thick hair. "Now, now, Sammy, that's not how this is going to go down. You're going to take my cock like a good little brother." Sam offers a muffled whimper of protest.

        Belt and fly taken care of, Dean makes quick work of rucking Sam's jeans down one-handed. Dean sucks the fingers of his left hand into his mouth, wetting them messily. He pulls them from his mouth with a slick pop, and traces the cleft of Sam's ass. He slides one finger inside Sam's hole, pressing his brother against the wall to tame the insistent buck Sam's body makes against the intrusion.

      "You're so pretty for me, Sam, fucked out on my fingers. Such a pretty little whore for me. But I think you're going to look even better on my cock." Dean pulls Sam's head back and places his teeth, white as a new headstone, against the hard line of Sam's neck. He can feel Sam's heart slamming in his chest, the pull of Sam's hair in his hand, and he can smell the anxiety rolling off his brother in waves. With no notice, Dean adds a second finger, scissoring it hard. Sam almost sobs at the unwelcome intrusion, but does his best to keep his lips clamped shut. "Gonna spread you open and you're gonna look so good on my dick, Sammy. Gonna be good for me now that I know just how far you went to find me.”

      Without warning, Dean adds a third finger and Sam grunts, his whole body going tight. Dean works Sam open with his hand, slowly moving his digits in and out of his younger brother's hole, admiring the stuttering tightness. Dean curls his fingers and brushes up against the bundle of nerves inside Sam and Sam breathes in so hard and fast that Dean can offer nothing but a haughty laugh. Dean yanks back on Sam's hair, sliding his fingers out of his brother.

      "On your knees, Sam. Hands on the ground." And he pulls down, yanking Sam's long hair as he does it, and Sam clatters to his knees, nearly falling because his jeans and belt are just under him. Sweat stands out in pearls on Sam's forehead, and he gingerly puts his hands to the ground, his head twisted at an awkward angle because Dean won't unclench his hand. There's unrestrained danger under the black of Dean's eyes; he doesn't bother to hide their true obsidian anymore. With a hard kick, Dean spreads Sam's legs even wider, opening his brother up, carving away at his vulnerability and breaking him down piece-by-piece, enjoying the look in Sam's eyes. It reminds him of watching the eyes of the damned he opened up on the rack time and again, the inexorable stretch of fear that always painted their faces. 

      "That's my good boy," Dean growls, unbuckling his own belt. "Hold still now." He frees Sam's hair from his grip and brings his cock to full hardness as Sam breathes in shaking gasps.

       Dean spits on his hand—his only kindness. Kneeling behind Sam, Dean uses his left hand to work over the curve of Sam's ass. Dean sees the muscles of Sam's back clench, and with that cue, he thrusts, nearly dry, all the way into his brother. Sam offers a choked, angry sob, and Dean again gathers Sam's hair in his fist, enjoying the press of his hips to Sam’s muscled ass. Dean's thrusts need gain no momentum, as he slams into Sam with no sense of rhythm, just pounding hard and mercilessly.

      "Such a good boy, Sammy. I can smell all that demon blood in you still. Never thought I'd know how you found me, did you?" Dean slaps Sam's ass hard once, twice, leaving an angry red print there. He's pulled Sam's head back so far he's nearly looking Sam in the eye, black to hazel. There's a plea in Sam's eyes and Dean, the demon he is now, does not bother to look for it.

     Dean's thrusts ratchet up, harder, faster, and Sam is grunting hard, simply trying to stay on all fours because Dean has his head pulled back so far that his balance is nearly off. Dean's black eyes are shut, he's reveling in the feel of his brother. The low, upset keening Sam's offering against the hard thrust of his cock is like music playing on a sinking ship, ragged and breaking. The pounding rhythm has Dean's hair almost obstructing his gaze now that he's let it grow, but he shakes it away and opens his ebony eyes so he can drink in the curve of Sam's neck that he's forced by pulling his brother's hair back as hard as he can.

      "Feel so good Sammy, gonna fill you up. Think you'll respond to demon come the way you do demon blood?" Sam's eyes squeeze shut, and with that Dean fills his brother, yanking his hair and arching his back. When Dean is done, totally empty, he pushes Sam to the side, throwing him off balance and making him sprawl on the bunker floor, ignoring Sam's still-hard dick and the angry sense of betrayal in his eyes.

     "I watched you bleed my friends, Sam. Don’t you ever think I'll let you forget it." 


End file.
